


Quis pro quo

by trashpseud (fallbekind)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Conditioning, D/s themes, Depressed Steve, Dubious Consent, HYDRA Trash Party, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rumlow is a little shit, Rumlow is trash Steve is trash Bucky is trash I'm trash you're trash we're all trash, slightly OOC, that's the warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallbekind/pseuds/trashpseud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone, depressed and bitter, Steve stalks Rumlow’s Hydra splinter group because they have Bucky. Bucky doesn’t seem to need saving, though — Rumlow plays the game well. Bucky is coming down from his programming but still in need of orders, missions, rewards. Programmed to provide sexual favors as a reward for good behavior and successful missions, he gets off on being dominated. Rumlow lets Steve near Bucky, but it's part of the plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quis pro quo

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Steve wishes he were as good as his canon self. Prompt courtesy of the awesome Doomtoast.
> 
> Title is a play on 'quid pro quo' - same, but with people. At last, my Latin skills are put to good use.
> 
> Dedicated to those who lured me into the dumpster after I innocently assumed that no one ships Bucky/Rumlow. I was wrong. About myself, too.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta, the wonderful and talented Mugatu.

Steve catches the Winter Soldier’s scent in Italy. He doesn’t go back to the hotel, just jumps on his bike and starts following the trail, heart in his throat. Corrupt border patrol in Slovenia, an entire drug cartel wiped out in Croatia, whispers of a new powerful player on the field in Serbia. Steve’s starting to stand out with his blond hair the further south they go, and picks more and more back roads, stops looking for room and board, sleeps in ditches, an hour at a time. This is what he does well. It doesn’t calm him down. 

He ditched Sam just over two weeks ago. Just snuck out in the middle of the night. It was the hardest thing he’d done. Sam is a good person. He’s got his own baggage, though; this was Steve’s way of protecting him. These days it’s better if he’s not around people. Steve knows he isn’t the most enjoyable company. He’s bitter, angry and reckless. He’s stopped caring about a lot of things. Couldn’t stop caring about Sam, though, that was the problem. Steve hopes his cowardly move explains enough, screams his apology louder than any conversation or hastily scribbled note could have.

They move quickly. One place, one mission, leave abruptly, and each time Steve loses sight of the van it gets harder to track down. He doesn’t dare attach a GPS tracker to it, convinced they’d find out somehow. The future is crazy. Steve sticks to analogue equipment. Binoculars. Cash. Payphones. He understands their limits, the edges of his trail are in sight.

The team is a core group of six men and one woman, well-equipped, ruthless. Rumlow has the lead. Steve has seen no signs of orders coming from higher up so far, and hasn’t heard anything hinting at a leftover Hydra hierarchy from Nat or Tony. Not that he’s spoken to them recently. They could be answering to themselves, but it’s clear from their supplies that they’ve got connections everywhere they go. Steve has no clear idea about their agenda. He doesn’t try to figure it out, either. He has his own.

The woman is short, quiet, agile, featureless. Strong. Wears any disguise like it’s a second skin. Killed a restaurant owner in Sarajevo with one hand in the middle of his business. By the time the surrounding patrons noticed, she was long gone. It unsettles Steve how much she reminds him of Natasha.

Rumlow is relaxed, talks loudly even in safe houses. Participates in his team’s banter, but always with an eye on the next mission. And on Bucky.

Bucky, who only listens to Rumlow and doesn’t interact with the others except on missions, when he blends in like it’s second nature. Who does mundane things; eats, brushes his teeth, scratches his back. Who looks small, despite his frame. Steve can’t stop watching. When Bucky’s not busy living up to the title of Winter Soldier, he seems to be Rumlow’s eyes and ears - always attentive when others are distracted.

That’s how Bucky knows Steve is out there. Steve just wonders whether the others do, too, hopes that somehow Bucky has kept it to himself, that this is something just between the two of them. It would say a lot about his state of awareness. He hopes Bucky is trying not to let the others know Steve is there. He hopes Bucky is planning on escaping soon, maybe only staying for convenience’s sake. He hopes Bucky is just playing dumb, for his and Steve’s sake.

Steve should really have known his hopes were a long way from the truth.

Three days into their stay in Albania, he sees it for the first time. It’s dawn, and Steve has found himself a good hiding spot in the garden across from the kitchen window. They got back from a mission about an hour ago, and the group thins out towards the respective bedrooms until Rumlow and Bucky are left. Their voices must be whispers now, because Steve can’t pick anything up, but he’s got a prime view when Rumlow calls Bucky over. 

Bucky stops in front of him, head angled down slightly, expecting. Rumlow’s lips curved into a half-smile, barely moving in a constant murmur, and then he puts his hand on Bucky’s head and starts petting him. Slow, tender strokes down his cheeks, into his neck, brushing his hair from his face. A finger pulls his chin up, and Bucky’s mouth opens as a thumb runs along his lower lip. A fiery chill runs down Steve’s spine and he resists the urge to squirm. They were always fiercely protective of each other, Bucky and him, back in Brooklyn, but Steve is reeling with something else. It makes him sick, seeing Bucky like this, letting it happen, because Bucky could easily overpower Rumlow. Could easily stop this, and doesn’t. How much of this is programming, he couldn’t estimate, but the Bucky he’s observed is more human than before and hasn’t been wiped in months. And if Bucky doesn’t need protection, doesn’t require saving, then what Steve feels must be a dark, ugly form of possessiveness.

A ghost of a smile flashes over Bucky’s face, making Steve’s stomach toil, and then Rumlow leans in and licks slowly across his lips. Doesn’t kiss, doesn’t linger. Claims him like a kid would a cookie, letting everyone know they touched it and now no one else wants it. As if Rumlow knows Steve is right there, crouching, watching pathetically on the sidelines, while his- his- _Bucky_ , is being ruined by someone else. Rumlow says something, and as he hoists himself up on the table behind him, Bucky starts to undo his own suit.

Steve is nauseous. He tries not to examine too closely why he’s still here, and not either barging in ( _to do what?_ his brain adds helpfully) or leaving. He has a feeling he knows where this is going, but he’s frozen in place. The nausea, he realises, is not just coming from the fact that Bucky is now bare-chested and reaching down to undo Rumlow’s fly — it’s that he’s so painfully hard, himself. And that wrongness fits Steve’s life so well these days, doesn’t it. After the betrayals by SHIELD, by Hydra, after years and years of searching to fight the good fight only to realise that it’s not that simple, the good and bad intertwined with a mass of gray in between. After all of that, Steve is tired of searching. He’s changed, damaged in ways that feel irreparable. He’s tired of grieving over people who have long passed. He’s tired of putting the needs of an entire country before his own. He’s tired of finding out time after time that his moral compass is pointing skywards and has no relevance to the life on the ground, not anymore, when once he’d been so sure. And if he no longer has that, then what use is Captain America? What distinguishes him from the Winter Soldier, how is he less of a weapon? Steve is tired, and he’s finding out that what he wants no longer correlates with that moral compass, with the needs of America, with what he once believed in. 

And as Rumlow buries a hand in Bucky’s hair and guides his cock past parted lips, Steve wants. He wants Bucky for himself, and he wants Rumlow to disappear. 

His hand finds its way down his pants, and he brings himself off, quickly, shamefully. Somehow it feels like another step towards a point of no return.

****

The thing with trying to rescue someone who doesn’t want to be rescued is that you end up looking like the bad guy. It’s the main thing preventing Steve from dragging Bucky out of there - that nagging idea in the back of his mind that this might be what Bucky wants, along with wondering where else he could go. Steve no longer has a home. The people he fought with, was a team with, are spread across the globe. Brooklyn has changed too much. His D.C. flat felt like a temporary base from the start. He has nowhere to bring Bucky home to. No longer cares about the concept, either, as long as he gets Bucky back in his life. They could make a new home together.

Steve follows the team into Macedonia. Going over casualty lists on a hotel computer, he muses that it would have been more fun had they crossed the Greek border instead. There’s a couple archeological sites there on his bucket list. He smiles at himself. As if he’d let Bucky out of his sight. As if he’d give him one more chance to be taken away from him. When all this is over, Steve thinks. They could disappear, do whatever they wanted. Finally have the rest of that life they started almost a century ago. He grimaces as he gets up, vision swimming, and he has to blink away a few tears. He can be so fucking naive sometimes.

Naive, pathetic, delirious. That’s what he calls himself when he stalks out the team’s new hiding spot. It’s a big house this time, surrounded by green but not far from the village, more nondescript than hidden. Hidden in plain sight. An old lady brings them milk and fresh bread in a cart like they’re on a fucking holiday. Bucky already knows Steve has arrived. The last to get out of the van and into the house, as usual, he’d tilted his head slightly to the right, not looking, but Steve’s location in his peripheral vision. Rumlow had stood in the doorway, watching him walk towards him. The grip on his shoulder as he guided Bucky past him and into the house could have been good-natured, but was most definitely possessive. Rumlow’s eyes flicking upwards felt like a warning. For a fleeting moment, Steve thinks he should be more careful. 

As if he doesn’t want to be found. Maybe two months ago, maybe when he was still Captain America, but Steve is too far gone now. His life has narrowed back down to the same person it started with, in a beautiful Gaussian function. Somewhere in this curve, he saved a lot of people. Somewhere in this curve, he kept losing the one person that mattered. He’s determined to turn it around, to let the world rot and save Bucky. Or let himself be saved. Whatever it ends up being.

That night, the team leaves, the van skidding across the dirt road. Not everyone, though. The lights are still on in the house, and Rumlow stalks around, draws the curtains except for in the kitchen. _The game is up_ , Steve thinks, unsurprised. This is for him. Rumlow knows, and this changes everything.

The kitchen window is open, so Steve hears the voices before he sees them. Bucky is wearing a loose-fitting tank top and what look like sweats or pyjama bottoms. He looks soft and sleepy. Steve’s heart hurts. Rumlow, on the other hand, is all business in black combat gear, gun holster still slung over his shoulder, his belt strapping knives and cartridges to his waist, and black fingerless gloves around hands that are pushing Bucky backwards until his back hits the table. 

“Pants off, on the table,” Rumlow commands. Bucky complies immediately, lets the sweats drop and hoists himself up, spreads his legs to allow Rumlow closer, closer, and then Rumlow grabs his thighs and pulls Bucky flush against him. Steve can see Rumlow’s grin as Bucky lets out a sigh. The sound goes straight to his cock. He wishes he could see Bucky’s face instead, but there’s only one window. It’s probably deliberate. It’s supposed to get him riled up.

Steve’s mind is completely blank. There’s static between his ears. All that matters is this, here and now, this show playing before his eyes. He wonders, distantly, when he’s finally going to make a move. In the kitchen, Bucky is laid out on the table, turned onto his front, ass in the air, and Rumlow’s tongue draws the most beautiful sound out of him. Of course he does.

***

The backdoor opens. Steve startles. He’s been zoning out since the kitchen was empty again, he has no idea how long ago. Could be five minutes, could be an hour. Rumlow stands in the doorway, crosses his arms and looks at the sky.

“Hey Cap.”

His voice is raspy, but without the smug undertone Steve had expected. More resigned.  
Steve doesn’t reply, because he suddenly feels incredibly small and silly, sitting on his ass in the underbrush, surrounded by his tools, empty wrappers, wet tissues, a duffle bag. He knows he’s hit rock bottom, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to show everyone else how broken he is. Still, too late for that, he supposes, since Rumlow doesn’t seem to think he’s a threat.

“Why don’t you come in for a second. There’s someone here who wants to talk to you.”

And there it is. After weeks, months of pursuit. Watching the Winter Soldier complete mission after ugly mission, after watching him transform into something more human, not like before, but maybe the start of an ‘after’. Waiting until even Steve hadn’t been sure what it was he was waiting for. Bucky wants to see him. Steve wants to cry. Out of relief or pure misery, he doesn’t feel like examining which.

Rumlow turns back into the house and leaves the door open. The rustle of leaves and twigs is loud in his ears. He touches the shield, then decides against it. With a deep sigh that doesn’t really do much to collect himself, he walks up to the house and steps inside. 

“In here,” Rumlow says. Steve walks past the hallway mirror and refuses to flinch at his reflection. It’s okay, he thinks. It doesn’t matter.

The room is an office of some sort. It’s mostly empty. Rumlow stands in the middle of the room, fully dressed again. Steve could probably take him if it came down to it, but here Rumlow is fully in control. They both know it. 

“Cap.” A nod.

He hasn’t been Cap for a while. It feels wrong, but the name helps Steve in keeping his composure. It’s amazing how he doesn’t want to punch Rumlow’s teeth out. Truly astonishing, after that sick display of authority, _dominance_ , just now.

_That sick game that got you off. Again._

“Rumlow,” he grunts. He clenches his jaw and doesn’t ask after Bucky, not yet.

“There’s a few things you need to know, Cap. About us, about Barnes.” _Barnes_. The possessiveness flares up again. “If your plan is to keep following us around,” he adds

Steve pulls his eyebrows up, indicating for Rumlow to continue.

“HYDRA is gone, SHIELD is gone. This bunch here? We’re neither. We’re our own team. The past is the past. The rules have changed, the playing field has changed.”

“You’re telling me you’re no longer the bad guys.” Steve huffs. “You’re on your own, huh. Where did these supplies come from? This house? Are you doing ops for fun, now? Because you’re bored?”

They’re talking around the issue, the issue being Bucky, but Steve can do this, for now.

“Hey, we need to live. We do what we do best, just under better working conditions. Freelance, if you will. Carving out our niche in the market.”

“Carving sounds about right. And what is that market? The Balkan mafia?”

“I could give you a brochure if you’re interested. The point is, Cap, we were never as righteous as your spangled self, but whether or not we’re the bad guys only depends on where you’re standing. Hydra fucked us all up pretty badly. This is our way of dealing with that.”

Steve takes a brisk step forward, despite himself. Rumlow doesn’t move a muscle.

“Is this chit-chat supposed to justify what you’re doing to Bucky,” Steve hisses out, conscious of Bucky in the next room, maybe. God. He’s here. Steve needs to get through this. Closes his eyes, exhales.

“Barnes is doing better every day,” Rumlow says, sidestepping a straight answer. “That’s the good news. There’s a lot of bad news, too. You might want to hear this before you talk to him.”

Rumlow talks as if he’s on Steve’s side. It’s bullshit, but he needs to hear what Rumlow knows about Bucky.

“Your friend’s been programmed to hell. He’s conditioned to do complex strategic tasks with minimal emotional response. Taking orders from one person at a time. He’s been out of cryotherapy for eight months, and it’s been rough. He’s getting bits of his past back; he’s starting to understand what happened.”

“And you just- how dare you take advantage of him- how fucking DARE you keep him doing missions, how-” Steve’s voice breaks, but he continues, furious, “ _how dare you talk like you care about him._ ”

“I don’t expect you to get it straight away, Cap, but it gives him a sense of validation. All of this. Task, reward. Even…”

His eyes flick downwards and Steve is at his throat in nanoseconds, shoving Rumlow into the wall and up, until Rumlow is on his toes, gloved hands wrapped around Steve’s forearms. But he doesn’t fight back.

“You don’t know what they used to do,” he wheezes, “he’s safe here, and I’m helping him come down from it-” 

“You’re no fucking better, Rumlow, don’t play with me,” Steve hisses into his face, eyes wet. “Bucky deserves- he’s- he needs-” Steve trails off, unsure about everything. All he knows is that there’s no one else in the world who cares about Bucky the way he does, who’s been aching all over since D.C. because he can’t change what happened to Bucky, can’t trade places. Can’t even save him now. With a last firm squeeze, he drops Rumlow on the floor.

“I never said I was a good man,” Rumlow rasps, massaging his neck, and that disgusting grin is back for a split second, “but he needs someone who knows him, knows what happened and who he is now. He needed someone to lead him, and that’s what I did. Don’t lie, Cap, If you really thought _you_ could help him, you would’ve barged in and taken him away months ago.” The authority in his voice is back, the rock-solid certainty, and Steve is helpless.

“You can’t begin to understand what he means to me,” he says, and it’s meant to be defiant but it comes out all desperate.

“Then go talk to him, he’s right there,” Rumlow says, tilts his head towards the door. “Just remember what I said. He listens to me, now.” It’s a warning, about Bucky’s state, but also about Rumlow’s position.

Steve takes a shaky breath, gives a curt nod despite himself, and turns to the door.

***

Bucky is sitting on the side of the bed when Steve walks in, looks up from where his head hung between his shoulders. Steve is scared shitless, but pushes through. He was never one to back down because of fear. 

“Bucky.” It’s a breath, almost a whisper, and half a plea.

Bucky’s face opens up into something that could be recognition.

“Steve.” Certain.

“Bucky, oh god.” Steve feels his face crumpling but doesn’t move, doesn’t want to startle him. Breathes. Swallows. Composes himself. And then Bucky speaks.

“Rumlow told me you knew me.” 

Steve’s heart goes stone cold for a moment. 

“I do know you,” he continues. “From- from before.”

Not D.C., he doesn’t say. Steve smiles, but it’s strained.

“How much-” but he stops himself.

“How much do I remember?” Bucky looks away and frowns. He bites his cheek for a moment, searching.

“Before I was found, I was alone. Before I was alone, I was with you.” He’s still frowning, but his voice sounds convinced. “I remember us. You were important. To me.”

Steve needs to be sure.

“How do you know Rumlow didn’t...” he trails off. 

“Rumlow is important to me,” Bucky says, “now.” As opposed to before, when Steve was. Bucky thinks Rumlow replaced him. It hurts like hell.

“Steve.” Bucky stands up. “I- things aren’t always clear to me,” he tries, reconsiders, “there are moments- sometimes I don’t remember enough, and other times I remember too much.”

Steve nods. He tries to understand. 

“I want to help,” Steve says, “whatever you need. I know you haven’t seen me in a long time, but you’re important to me, too. You’re the only important thing left in my life. I- I want to help.” 

Bucky looks down.

“You should talk to Rumlow. I’m not very good at…” Searching again. “Decisions.”

Steve grimaces.

“We talked, yeah.”

Bucky nods. Comes a step closer. Really looks at Steve, takes his time, eyes raking over his face, down his body, back up.

Steve blushes.

Bucky looks nervous, all of a sudden, eyebrows drawn together. He looks at the door, back at Steve. 

“What’s wrong,” Steve asks, concerned.

A pained laugh, for a second.

“I’m, um. Rumlow told me I could trust you. But I’m not very good- it’s hard for me to listen to two people. It makes things complicated.”

 _He listens to me, now_ , Rumlow had said. But he’d told Bucky that Steve could be trusted, too.

“Can I…?” Bucky asks, his hands lifting up, and it’s not directed at him. Steve turns around, to see Rumlow in the doorway.

Rumlow nods.

Bucky inches closer to Steve, hands first, and Steve lets him. Flesh and metal fingertips connect with his cheeks, already wet and steadily getting wetter. Steve can’t believe it’s really him. A broken version, yes, but Bucky. He closes his eyes for a moment as Bucky’s hands roam, over his face, down his shoulders.

His eyes fly open when soft lips touch his.

For one, long moment, Steve is stunned, can’t move, can’t do anything but let it happen, Bucky’s lips moving against his, working them open, and then Steve grabs Bucky’s shoulders and pushes him back.

He regrets it instantly. Bucky just- shuts down. Steps away, head down, guilty, confused. 

“Steve,” Rumlow says, before Steve can say or do anything.

“Remember what I said,” he says, and “show him he can trust you.”

Steve turns back, angry. “What the hell am I supposed to do?” he hisses. “What _you_ do to him?”

Rumlow shrugs. Fucking shrugs.

“Let him know when he’s doing well. I think you can figure out how to do that. We’ll talk about this later,” he says, pointedly. Then, to Bucky: “Be patient, it’s all new to him. Show him what you need.”

Rumlow leaves after that. Steve is dumbfounded. Looks back at Bucky, who is still standing there, looking like he wishes he was anywhere else.

Shit.

“Bucky,” Steve begins, resigned, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I’m really glad to see you, Buck.”

Bucky closes his eyes.

“Is it true,” Steve tries, “what he says, do you want… that?”

He comes closer and carefully puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky looks up, hopeful. Steve’s heart hurts, and he pulls Bucky into a hug. Bucky returns it, wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and squeezes tight. Steve buries his nose in Bucky’s neck. It feels so good to finally do it.

“My god, Bucky,” he whispers, new tears welling up, “what did they do to you.”

“I don’t know,” comes the muffled reply. “All I know is that I know you. I know you.”

Steve must be the first person in decades to be familiar to Bucky. He wonders how long ago it feels to Bucky, the moment they got separated. To Steve, that happened about two years ago, although in this moment it feels like an eternity has passed in between. 

Bucky’s hands begin to roam, up and down Steve’s back, along his arms. Steve resists a shudder. 

“Steve,” Bucky pleads. “Steve, please.” He sounds hurt.

“What, Buck?”

“Please don’t leave. Please, I- I know you. You were important to me. Please. Steve.”

And Bucky presses his lips to Steve’s neck, slowly, searching. Kisses a trail up, up, to find his mouth.

Steve lets him, this time. It feels wrong, it’s too fast. This is not what he came looking for. But it also feels amazing. 

The kiss they share is slow and heavy, full of meaning. Bucky’s brow is furrowed. Steve wants to make it ok, wants Bucky to feel good. He slowly slides his hands up, past Bucky’s neck, into his hair, keeping him close. Bucky sighs into it, and Steve feels Bucky’s lips curling upwards into a small smile. 

Steve is starting to understand what he needs to do.

“I’m not leaving, Buck. Not again. I’m here, I’m right here,” he whispers as one hand slides down to grab Bucky’s waist, pulling him into another kiss. The more demanding he is, the more Bucky goes soft and pliant under his hands.

“Steve,” he pants, breaking away from the kiss, “tell me what to do, I need you to tell me- please, I can’t-” He rests his forehead against Steve’s, eyes squeezed shut. 

“You don’t have to do anything, Bucky, it’s okay,” Steve tries, but it’s not the right answer.

“No, no, I w- please, can I make you feel good? _Steve_ ,” he whines, almost, licks his lips just inches from Steve’s.

“Only if you want to, Buck. Only if it’s important to you.”

Bucky nods, a small smile on his lips again, and Steve kisses them, this time because he really wants to. He tries to keep the thoughts away, the voices that tell him how fucked up this is, how this is Bucky’s programming, how he’s taking advantage, because he _wants_ , he really does. Bucky is here, he’s with Steve now, and Steve can take care of him, look after him.

They never did this, before, Steve has to remind himself. Back in Brooklyn, it felt like they were building up to something, something significant and complex and frightening, and then the war had taken Bucky away. By the time Steve found Bucky in Hydra’s facility, so many things had changed. They had both _been_ changed, one willingly and one forcibly, and while they quickly fell into step again, in some ways they had taken several steps back. It was no longer the two of them against the world. And then there was Peggy.

This feels like a third chance. Everything is different now. It could be them against the world again, Steve could make it work. The only mission left, the only important one. Bucky will get better, and Steve will never let him get away again.

Bucky guides Steve to the bed and sits him down, eyes searching Steve’s for signs of disapproval. As he kneels down between Steve’s knees, slowly, grabbing Steve’s thighs for leverage, something hot shoots straight to Steve’s cock. _Look at you_ , he thinks, despite himself. _You’re the most beautiful thing on this godforsaken planet_.

Steve cradles Bucky’s head in his hands and kisses him again, because he can, because they both want it. Pushes into Bucky’s mouth with desperation, _can you tell how much you mean to me_ , and Bucky moans, hands going slack, letting it happen. This is the way it’s going to have to go, Steve understands. They can’t talk just yet. But maybe they can do this instead.

He guides Bucky’s hands to his crotch, and Bucky’s breath hitches. Breaking away, his lips move against Steve’s as he nods. He makes quick work of Steve’s pants, and looking straight at Steve, licks the palm of his flesh hand and takes Steve’s cock out. Strokes it expertly, deliberately, flicks of his wrist doing incredible things, and Steve fights the urge to close his eyes. He wants to keep watching.

And then Bucky grabs one of Steve’s hands, mouths _please_ , and guides it to the back of his head.

Steve does. Buries his fingers in shoulder-length hair and brings Bucky’s lips to his cock. Considering points of no return, this feels like a significant one. He’s already come once, today, not long ago. Had wiped himself clean, but the musky smell lingers still, as Bucky darts out his tongue to lap up the new wetness at the tip. Plays with it, carefully, expertly, lets some of it drip back out of his mouth only to lick it up again. A sudden hard suck at the tip has Steve jerking his hips upwards, hand moving Bucky’s mouth further onto his cock. His impulse reaction is to apologise, but he bites his tongue because Bucky lets out a low sound of contentment. 

Steve’s initial plan to be gentle, loving, showing Bucky it doesn’t have to go the way Rumlow does it, is battling the new realisation that this is what _Bucky_ likes. Rumlow said it, gave Bucky an order: _show him what you need_.

His fingertips bury themselves deeper in Bucky’s hair, twist around the roots into a firm grip. As he starts up a rhythm, Bucky adjusts easily, tongue flicking along the underside with each movement. Bucky’s hands start wandering, kneading Steve’s thighs, pulling at his open pants, fingertips skating up under his t-shirt, and Steve doesn’t know why he does it, but he lets go of Bucky and takes off his sweater and t-shirt. Bucky’s eyes flick upwards and the corners of his eyes crinkle, similar to the way the corners of his mouth turn upwards around Steve’s cock. He sucks harder. Steve hisses.

 _Let him know when he’s doing well_. Rumlow’s voice in his head. Steve thinks it may have been directed at both of them. Bucky keeps going but doesn’t speed up, doesn’t slow down. Steve decides to use both hands to guide him, gently but firmly, deeper and faster. Pushes in _hard_ and stays there a moment. Bucky chokes silently for a second before he’s pulled off again. Steve can see that his crotch is tented, despite Rumlow’s actions earlier. He’s getting close, but doesn’t want to come, not yet, and not in Bucky’s mouth.

A gentle caress down Bucky’s cheek, and Steve’s fingers hook under his jaw, pull him away and up, until he’s standing up between Steve’s knees, towering above him. Steve doesn’t give him time to think, just pulls him in. Wraps his arms around his waist and reaches up to kiss him. A small sob escapes Bucky’s throat, and he leans in and puts his knees on either side of Steve’s hips, fingers splayed open on Steve’s cheeks. Something wells up in Steve’s chest. It’s going to be okay.

Steve is careful to remain in control. His hands slowly creep towards Bucky’s pants to undo them, and as he pulls them down, trapping both knees against his thighs, Bucky grabs his t-shirt and pulls it off. The skin-on-skin contact is hypnotizing. Bucky’s body feels warm, human, real. Even his left arm isn’t too far from body temperature. Steve’s hands move lower and lower, down Bucky’s spine, following the curves of his ass, until his fingers find wetness. Jesus.

“No,” says Steve, and tries to back away. Bucky looks at him, alarmed. Steve feels sick.

“Steve,” Bucky pleads, “it’s okay, it’s okay, please, it’s good-”

“You didn’t even shower? After...” Steve barely gets the words out.

“Do you want me to shower? Rumlow told me not to shower. I don’t-” he looks confused.

Two different orders. Would Bucky follow Steve’s orders now, too? Is this how it’s going to be? Rumlow and Steve controlling Bucky. _Looking after_ , maybe. The thought is hysterical. Bucky tries to get his attention.

“Steve, _Stevie_ , please, I need- it’s good like this, it makes sense. Both of you. I trust you both.” He’s grinding down and Steve’s body is responding, shorting out all rational thought. Steve’s cock is angled so that it catches on Bucky’s slippery hole, wet with-

Steve’s mouth falls open. It’s getting him off, the wrongness of it. He can’t stop, can’t wait to talk it out, get Bucky in the shower, override Rumlow’s orders, deal with the confusion, he’s too far gone to turn back. He lines up his cock, rock hard, and slowly pushes in.

It’s disgusting. It feels incredible. Bucky has his eyes squeezed shut, biting his lip, and everything is quiet for a moment, until Steve pulls out wit a wet sound, pulls Bucky’s hips away and then closer again. The angle is awkward — Bucky’s pants are still trapped around his knees and Steve only has his cock free himself, so he makes a decision. Pulls Bucky flush against him and turns them both around, Bucky’s back hitting the bed and Steve on top of him. Bucky’s pants are pulled off, quickly, erratically, and Steve grabs hold of Bucky’s left hip while pushing his right thigh back, bending him double. He pushes back in, the warmth and pressure enveloping him again, and Bucky _howls_.

Steve bends over to kiss him, hips moving in slow, deliberate thrusts, and Bucky barely registers it, lets Steve rub his lips along his, lick into his mouth as he breathes. Then they start forming words again. Whispers, barely audible.

“C’mon, Steve, yes, c’mon, I won’t break, I won’t break, I promise, please.”

 _Harder_ , Steve thinks. He needs more. Steve is scared that there’ll be a moment when this will hit his limit, when he’ll have to admit he can’t push himself further, even for Bucky. Steve is even more scared that that moment might never come.

 _You want harder? I’ll give you harder. Anything you want, Buck_.

And Steve folds both of Bucky’s legs up, drapes his body over them and starts pounding in earnest. The bedposts squeak dangerously, and Bucky is being pushed higher and higher up the bed until he has to steady himself against the headboard. He’s smiling. A delirious grin on his face that Steve hasn’t seen in forever.

Steve is close. Everything feels amazing, and he’s becoming aware of Bucky clenching around his cock. Looking up at him expectantly, like he’s fascinated by what Steve’s face is showing him. Steve speeds up, goes deeper, and then Bucky twist his hips to the side _just so_ , and Steve is done.

It lits up his entire body, and he stills inside Bucky, come shooting up into him, no doubt mixing with Rumlow’s. He’ll care about that later.

Slowly regaining awareness of the things around him, he finds Bucky still hard, teetering on the edge. He carefully lowers Bucky’s legs, grabs hold of the base of his cock and sucks it into his mouth. Bucky’s eyes fly open, alarmed, and he starts babbling.

“N-no, Steve, Steve, please, can I, tell me, you need to, _Steve, can I_ ,” and Steve is shocked.

“Of course you can, Buck,” he says quickly, then rethinks, says, “let go, come for me,” and Bucky convulses almost immediately. Steve puts his mouth back on Bucky’s cock to catch the come spurting out, wants him to feel good, wants to make it okay. Massages his thighs as they tremble with aftershock. _They wouldn’t even let him come without permission, he thinks sadly_.

Later, when Bucky is showering (after Steve gives an explicit order, despite his stomach churning over it), Steve sits himself down in the dark kitchen. Places his elbows on the table and buries his head in his hands. This has all been incredibly overwhelming. Steve feels used. Feels guilty for feeling used, now that he’s seen the extent to which Bucky is damaged still. And not even the full extent, he’s sure. But he also revelled in the closeness he had with Bucky, after a lifetime of wanting and not having. Steve’s body feels wrung out and sated, glows with release. He’s more conflicted than he’s ever been. 

Rumlow finds him like this. The light is switched on, and Rumlow moves to stand in his line of sight, a beer bottle in his hand. He’s smirking.

Steve sends him a disgusted glare.

“Oh don’t give me that, Cap. You’re no better than I am, here. You did it, didn’t you. Fucked him, pushed my come back in him.” He snorts. “You needed to see it. How he works. The state he’s in. What he needs. You couldn’t understand otherwise.”

He walks over, sits down across from Steve, who recoils. The bottle hits the table hard.

“Did he listen to you? Did he do what you told him?” He’s genuinely curious, it seems.

“Only because you ordered him to, didn’t you,” Steve spits out.

“You’re getting it,” Rumlow nods. “He’s been through experience after traumatic experience. Frozen, wiped, trained. Used. This is the best he’s ever been, Steve. I’d give you the file if I didn’t think you’d shoot yourself. We’re dealing with an extremely skilled soldier who was trained to be rewarded for his skills with sexual favors. Big man on the battlefield, likes to be dominated in the bedroom.” He says it so calmly. “When SHIELD collapsed, we got out, took him with us. No one went near him for a while. I gave him orders, he knew my voice from before. He became confused, erratic. No matter how much I said he’d done a good job here or there, he expected me to do what the others had done. He became a lot easier to work with, after that. You want to break that conditioning, let him go cold turkey? Be my guest. I’m telling you, it’s going to take time.”

Steve looks down at the table and tries to control his breathing.

“It shouldn’t take too long before he starts listening to you, if I let him.” Rumlow sounds sincere, which only makes Steve more suspicious. “I never did let the others near him, you must’ve seen that.”

“And what are you getting out of this deal, Rumlow?” Steve hisses, tilting his head. “Huh?”

Rumlow sits back, smiles amicably. 

“Simple. I want you to join my team.”


End file.
